Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  “They broke it, there at the trial,” Todder said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Epik said. “He’s got about a hundred back at the store.”

  “Oh, I imagine they’ve burned that place by now.”

  “They what?”

  At that moment, Myra came in, holding the cat. She looked a bit singed.

  “You guys left me!” she scolded them. She set the cat down, and it immediately went to chasing mice in the storeroom.

  “We went to the—“

  “I don’t care where you went.” She looked angry, pouty. “They tried to set me on fire.”

  She took a seat at her table. “I’ll have the usual,” she said to no one in particular.

  Epik brought her wine and a roasted chicken out of habit, mostly. He was finding his thoughts were rather less of Myra, right now. Or perhaps it was that Gerdy was occupying them more.

  “They said the wizard’s gonna be hung,” Myra said to the bar.

  “Aye, he’s in the dungeon now,” Jed said.

  “In the high-security cell,” Todder elaborated.

  “The high-security cell? What’s that like?” Epik asked.

  “You know, the usual,” Todder said. “Dungeons and all.”

  Epik didn’t know, but he nodded anyway.

  “I just… just feel like it’s my fault,” Todder said into his ale.

  “Yep,” Epik and Gerdy agreed.

  Todder shot them a cross-eyed look. “Hey!” he groused reproachfully. “It’s not like I was out there doin’ magic—all against the law like.” He gave Epik a sideways look. “Ya don’t think you share a bit of this blame there, little fella?”

  “You’re right,” Epik said mournfully. “I do.”

  “And fer a stupid dart game!” Jed finished his ale. “Speakin’ of, I’m gonna need you to start cleaning the place.”

  The bar sat just as untidy as they’d left it the previous night. Epik got to work, clearing dishes and mugs, piling them into the sink. As he cleared the side room, he found the dart Collus had left in the middle of the floor, the one that had flown straight and then to the ground. He picked it up, examining it, before slipping it into his pocket. He had quite the collection now, a wand in the back pocket and a dart in the left.

  Gerdy cornered him before he made his way back. She looked back at Myra, whose fork and eyes were buried in her chicken.

  “Do you think this is like a test?” she asked. “Like part of your apprenticeship.”

  “I don’t,” Epik said. Cleaning this bar was more in line with what they’d done in his apprenticeship. Though Gabby had mentioned he would teach him after standing up for himself. Was this what he meant?

  “Hear me out,” Gerdy had a wild look in her eyes. “What better way to prove your stuff? You could help him escape. We could help him escape.”

  “How?” Epik said. But even as he said, he worked to squash the negativity from his mind. That was halfling bubbling out. “You’re right,” he said. “We can do it.”

  He carried a tray of dishes past the bar, thinking. They would have to find a way. Epik backed into the entryway of the kitchen but stopped as the sergeant shot him the helpless look of a puppy in a kennel. Todder thought this was all his fault. Epik stood there, holding the plates in place with his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked the large man.

  “I was just thinkin’,” Todder said. “It all seems so wrong. If there was anythin’ I could do.” Todder bit his lip.

  “I think, there is,” Gerdy said, coming up from behind the curtain, a grin parted crookedly across her face.

  A cloudy day turned to a cloudy night, all purple, gray, and black. Torches lit the sky by the wall, their orangish glow reflected down from the lower layer of cloud. A cool breeze from the ocean sung through the city, and Todder knew sooner or later a fog would roll in and obscure the land outside the wall even further.

  The captain and the Grand Counselor had been true to their word. A fresh batch of recruits clung next to the Wall, their eyes searching the tree line and the road. They held their pikes and swords—the belongings of other men—tightly in hands that had never known them. The sergeant recognized his local butcher’s son…Jordan, was it?

  Where was the army now? Now that the city truly was in jeopardy? Captain Snyder had been tight lipped. “We’ve got some men for you,” he had said. “On such short notice, you should be happy. Troop movements are well above your pay grade. Commander Lightbody and I will figure all of that out.”

  “And where’s Commander Lightbody?” Todder had asked decisively.

  “You know, I could have you on charges for asking such a silly question,” the captain had said. “But I like you, Sarge. We go back. There’s a lot to running a kingdom, you know. I believe the Commander was in Balboa the last time he wrote.”

  “Which was when?”

  “You don’t give up.” Captain Snyder tapped the tip of his long nose. “It was a month ago, but there’s nothing to worry about, you’ll see. These men will do fine.”

  Todder was sure that wasn’t true.

  He sat there, eyeing the men, thinking hard and down on himself.

  The wizard, Antonio the whatever, had found a position on the rampart above him, in place of an archer. Todder hoped he had some spells to cast should the trolls happen back this way, but he suspected not.

  Luckily, there were other men at the Wall. Solid, steady men, and a few dwarves besides. Brandishing axes and a hammer, they huddled noisy and lighthearted by a campfire outside the wall.

  Collus circled them. Under his brimmed hat, the ranger’s face glowed orange when lit with the flickering firelight. His getup was made of weaponry. Beneath the usual leather jerkin, he now donned a chainmail shirt. Armored plates protected his shoulders, elbows, and knees, all of it matte black instead of chrome.

  Rotrick sat with the dwarves by the fire, playing cards and drinking ale Jed had provided. They were all there courtesy of Mister Epiman, who Jed said had an interest in helping protect the city—helping protect Jersy.

  Todder leaned back in his chair, laughing at himself dumbly. He was out of control. Not only had he sent Gabby to his death, but now probably Gerdy and Epik would share that fate. They only had to get through thirty guards, a maze of a dungeon, and the two-headed dog at the end of it all. Tinker Bell, what a name for a vicious hound.

  The newly promoted Lance Corporal Brendan Sands headed Todder’s way from the other side of the men. “Pick up those heads recruits,” he said as he stalked past them. “Justin, that pike won’t thrust itself.”

  Justin, not Jordan, Todder thought.

  He wasn’t ready to talk to Lance Corporal Sands. Brendan had been conveniently sent away from the day’s proceedings. Whether it was the captain’s or Grand Counselor’s orders, it didn’t matter. Todder still felt betrayed. The boy hadn’t been there to back him up. Though he’d probably have just been fuel for the Grand Counselor’s fire, Brendan knew Gabby didn’t pose a threat. And he sure as heck wasn’t giving trolls any orders. Todder leaped up from the chair, gathered his belt and pants as they fell in the maneuver, and marched hastily to stand by the fire.

  “Evening Sarge,” Coe said, grinning. “We’ve got a line on how many of that lot the trolls kill tonight. Even money for the lot of ‘em, but the game’s much better if you only take a few. I’ve got lard ass over there, skinny breeches, and crooked nose.” He pointed.

  “Telling ya,” the black bearded dwarf, Wellspoken said. ”Skinny breeches gonna run like a jackalope away from here. Toothpick legs like that. He’ll get away, I’m sure of it.” The dwarf poked a log on the fire—with his finger, no less.

  “Skinny breeches? Nah, they make it damn near impossible to run,” Collus argued. “So, what’d’ya say Sarge? Got a bet?”

  “Not interested in yer games,” Todder said, but he looked back at the ragtag crew. Coe was right, even money for the lot of them.

  “Suit yourself,” Collus said. “You didn’t seem int
erested last night either, at the bar. And it seemed you won a bit of luck from that. I assume you’ll be staying at your post tonight though.”

  “What’r’ya gettin’ at?” Todder asked grumpily. The lack of sleep was getting to him now. He usually knew better than to offend the ranger, especially in circumstances like this. Collus could easily stab him in the back, or worse—he could let the trolls through to him.

  “Nothing,” Collus said indifferently. “It just seemed a bit of luck last night, that’s all. But we’ll all be needing a bit tonight, won’t we gang?” The dwarves and Rotrick replied with a chorus of grunts and other ill-timed and unrehearsed responses that mostly meant yes.

  One of the stubby looking dwarves had not replied.

  “Luck? I don’t need luck,” he said, scoffing. All dwarves were stubby looking but this one, in particular, had the squat frame of a toad. He sat by the fire, gripping his double-bladed axe between his knees, stroking the shaft of it when he thought no one was looking.

  “Do you know much about trolls?” Todder asked them.

  “We’ve seen a few in our day,” Coe said. “These are probably mountain trolls. They turn to stone in the day, but don’t need caves to protect them. There’s not a cave within day’s walk of the city—that I know of.”

  “Aye,” Todder nodded. He knew as much about the outside of Dune All-En as he did about a woman’s undergarments. He knew where things went and what they looked like, he’d seen a map after all, but he’d never felt the soil under his boots. He’d never done a lot of things—including take off a woman’s undergarments. Now it seemed he never would. The girl, the horse, he’d never truly been able to get her out of his mind.

  The smoke billowed from the fire. It mixed with the clouds above. A light fog began to roll in from the river. The sergeant watched as the flames danced across each gruesome dwarf face. Even Coe and Rotrick, when the light hit them the right way, had their fair share of battle scars.

  “So what’s the secret?” Todder asked. “How do you defeat a troll?”

  Collus laughed deeply.

  “There’s no secret. We just fight. Like we always do.” Another chorus of grunts and replies.

  “There’s one secret,” the dwarf by the fire, Wellspoken, said. He tipped the pickaxe over in his hand. “Here it is. Trolls are basically rocks, am I right?” Todder nodded. “It’s like mining but more fun. I use the pickaxe to kill the troll.”

  Todder nodded again.

  “That blunted thing won’t work!” Another dwarf sprang up from a long by the fire. There was no difference in his sitting or standing height, but it made an impression all the same. “How many trolls you killed in your life? I bet I can count on one hand.” He held out his left hand, two of the fingers were missing.

  The other dwarves roared with laughter.

  “Nah,” the last dwarf, the one with only one eye, cut in. “It’s a sledge that works best.” He threw his hammer down with might. Mud and sand erupted, threatening to put out the fire. The dwarf looked a lot like a goat without the horns, white, yellowing hair, uneven teeth, and a beard that jutted straight out from his chin.

  “Too many years at the forge,” the well-spoken dwarf said. His black braided beard swung down and hit his belt. He drove his pickaxe into a rock—which had been minding its own business politely—splitting the thing in three. “Huzzah, now there’s a seat for all of us.”

  “Too many years in the mine,” the dwarf with three fingers argued, taking Todder by the shoulder and bringing his axe close to the sergeant’s nose. The blade reflected sharply in the firelight. Todder’s nose hairs recoiled at the sight of it. “This should be a dwarf’s only choice of weapon. Double bladed, forged in the pit of Mount Dwarven itself. Blood is its only whetstone.”

  “Blood is its only whetstone,” Wellspoken laughed, slapping his knee. “This one’s a joker. We call him Two-finger.”

  “You can call me Al,” Two-finger said. “I don’t care. This here blade has seen it all.”

  “Don’t let him BS you,” Collus said. “No known blade from Mount Dwarvin exists anymore. They sell knockoffs of everything down in the Forge.”

  “Not true! It’s been handed down in my family from generation to generation. Me own dad used it in the Battle of the Ramparts.”

  “If that’s true,” Coe said teasingly. “Then what’s its name? Don’t all legendary blades have names?”

  “It does.” The dwarf squared on Collus. “Fizzlestick!” he said proudly.

  Collus and Rotrick bent over with laughter. Even Todder squeaked out a laugh. Shock crossed Two-finger’s pockmarked face. All three of the dwarves held their line, unmoved; Billy even held a distinguished glare in regard to the blade, holding a stone face, a tear rolling from his good eye.

  The name didn’t exactly breed confidence. It sounded more like something a wizard might call his wand, Todder thought. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “You laugh at the name of my blade?” Two-finger said coldly. “After all we’ve been through. After all, this blade has done for you.”

  “I laugh at the name of that ancient blade,” Coe said with a grin. “Take it from me, Sarge, the weapon doesn’t matter. When it comes to trolls, orcs, dragons, it’s what’s up here that matters most.” Collus pointed to his forehead. “And this lot don’t have much going on up there. Just stick by me, and we’ll get through this.”

  Two-finger, still standing by the fire, took the handle of his blade in both fists. He sliced through the fire, splitting all of the logs in two.

  “If that’s what ya think, ya bastard ranger, we dwarves can move our fire elsewhere.” Wellspoken took the burning logs and the embers in his hands, and the dwarves walked several yards to the east, leaving Todder, Collus, and Rotrick there by the half fire.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Epik said.

  He fit clumsily into an old dwarf’s uniform that Todder had procured. While dwarves were usually built like thick pipes, broad shoulders as thick as their bellies, halflings had far more curves and variation. The chest of the brown coat caved in like a valley, but the buttons wouldn’t fasten in the middle. Luckily for Epik, the dwarf had been on the shorter side, but still, an excess of blue pant-leg was stuffed inside his boots, crammed in along with Epik’s cramped feet. He had to curl his toes as he walked.

  “I believe the dungeons are down from that guardhouse.” Gerdy pointed.

  “You believe?”

  “Okay—I know,” she said firmly.

  It was Gerdy’s idea. She would pretend to be a witch being brought in, and Epik a watchman.

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “When we first came to the city, Dad thought I needed to act like a lady. And Mom wasn’t getting anywhere, teenage rebellion and all. I wouldn’t listen to her. So, he sent me to etiquette school to learn to be a lady.”

  “So is that why you talk the way you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doesn’t explain how you know where the dungeons are though.”

  “I punched a girl who said I looked like a horse. Her family was of high standing. I spent a week locked up before they let me out.”

  “What a—“

  “It was Myra, ya know.” Gertrude grinned. She seemed to like looking at the puzzlement on Epik’s face. “She wasn’t always the princess she is now. She used to be worse.”

  “But—“ Epik started again.

  “Oh,” Gerdy laughed, “yeah, Mye flunked out too. Only a few days after me. Got into it with some girl named Gwen—Gwendoline, Guinevere…” She trailed off. “Hey, this way,” she said.

  The gate was clear on the other side of Kings, close to the Forge and the harbor, across the expansive palace from where the children gathered their food stamps. Epik could hear the splash of water on the cliff face below them.

  “When you said down, what exactly did you mean?”

  “Well, it’s a dungeon. It’s below the castle, isn
’t it? Down in the caverns.”

  “In the caverns,” Epik said uneasily.

  Gerdy blew out a sigh. “Is Mister Adventure Halfling afraid of the dark?”

  “It’s not the dark. It’s enclosed spaces.” He grabbed at his neck.

  “You’ll be okay,” she said. “I’ll be right there with you.”

  A silent guard stood watch outside the entrance, though what he saw from under the frilly oversized hat, only he knew. His head was cocked back, resting the heavy plume against the wall of the gatehouse.

  “And you’re sure this will work?” Epik said.

  “Maybe.” Gerdy shrugged. “Have to try, don’t we?”

  They left the shadows and headed for the guard house, Epik trailing behind her. “Epik! You’ve got to sell it! Push the pike into my back or something.”

  “Oh, right.” He shoved the dull blade into her shoulder blade.

  “Ow! Not that hard!”

  “Sorry,” he said, continuing forward. “Evening,” Epik called up to the guard as they passed. “I’ve got a witch here. A right nasty one, too.”

  Gerdy snapped her head back at him, glaring. He gulped unconsciously.

  “Sorry again.”

  The guardhouse was bigger on the inside. It cut into the palace wall surrounding it. There were not-so-hidden tunnels through the walls to get to the other houses. The very last stand of a city siege would end here.

  Another of the Palace Guard sat at a ramshackle table, reading what looked to be a thick loaf of bread under the white hot glow of an oil lamp. His large hat sat on opposite side of the table. So, for a minute, before he looked up in earnest, Gertrude was all he saw.

  “Can I help you miss?”

  “She’s a witch,” Epik said hotly. He sputtered out a cough. “What I meant to say is, she’s a witch. I came to bring her down to the dungeon. Caught her doing some magic.”

  The guard peered around his hat. “What kind of magic?” he asked. “You one of those new recruits? I’d heard we rounded up some kids but didn’t think they actually meant kids.”

  “I’m not a kid; I’m a halfling. She, uh—“